


Kiss & Music

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Nobody Dies, Other, You're going to have to trust me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:59:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark hair, pale skin more gold than his own - James would know him anywhere. </p><p>"Robbie," he said gently, brushing particles of dirt off his Governor's face. "Robbie Lewis, wake up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out Garonne's [fantastic cover!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1521644)
> 
> Note on pronunciation:
> 
> Preeti - PREE-TEE  
> Clodagh - KLO-da
> 
> There is a [PLAYLIST](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCKcnrBehc_yIu0PILQYOpTqyIEOIC900) for this story! I chucked in a lot of music I thought Hathaway would sing at Cambridge in whatever Choral society he might have joined.
> 
> I forgot to add that this story would not have been possible without Brighid's brilliant X Files fic, '[Sans Merci](http://krycek.gossamer.org/author/10502-1.html)'. (link to her page on Gossamer)

_~*~_

_He opened his eyes, gasping for breath. It was dark, and warm, and close - he felt hemmed in. He reached forward, he reached up - moist, crumbling soil met his fingertips, dirt fell down to tickle his face, scratch his throat. He choked and spat, kicked with his feet and scrabbled with his hands, cries rising from his throat before he could squelch them._

_He tired._

_Sense returned to him, and he lay there quietly, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself._

_Eventually he realized he could see. There was soft, pale light at his head to the left. No matter how he twisted to see what it was and where it was coming from he could not determine the source. If he were mad, he might think the light was deliberately moving to keep out of his view. But that would be insane._

_Now he could see that there were fine roots and rootlets hanging above him, and that he was definitely underground. How far, he could not determine. He became aware of the smell of earth, not the odour of river mud, so he was nowhere near flowing water, nor the thick smell of clay. The scent was fresh and clean, of good and well loosened garden soil. He was reminded of the allotments -_

_Why was he here? He remembered nothing beyond the faintest recollection of a tipper beating fast against a bodhran, the squeal of a fiddle and the twang of a plucked banjo, and uproarious laughter, a spilled pint of lager and the friendly calls of his mates as he stumbled towards the bathroom to wipe his sopping trousers._

_"James!" they shouted. "James, nunc est bibendum!"_

_"Festina lente!" he shouted back, knocking shoulders with someone as he turned the corner into the hallway that led to the Gents._

_"Festina lente," he whispered again, grateful to have remembered that much. He was James Hathaway, Detective Sergeant in the Thames Valley Police._

_So. He was going to have to rescue himself from wherever he was. He had to be smart, as smart as he had ever been. What was the first rule of any copper? Observe. The space he was in had not been disturbed from above, the roots were proof of that, which led to the obvious answer, he had been slid into this confined space from the side. He knocked against both sides - no give. In fact they were hard and dry, unyielding to the pressure of his nails. Which left three options; from below, from the top, and from the end. And of those three, with the light behind and the roots above, entry and exit from his feet made the most sense._

_James inched down as much as the space would allow his knees up and out, and then he kicked. He kicked and kicked and just when he thought nothing was happening, the dirt gave under his heel.  
_

In moments he had broken through and slid out of his little coffin shaped slit, carefully dropping to his feet. The slit was only waist high and opened into a cool chamber lit at intervals with the same wan lights that had been behind his head. Ah, not lights. He moved closer to one patch, realized they were glow-worms or some kind of equivalent, perhaps an incandescent moss or fungus. Now that he could see it from further away, he understood his lair was less of a slit and more of a platform cut into the earth. 

_The chamber was tall enough for him to stand completely upright and as he looked around, he saw there was an exit behind himself, and five more lighter patches of waist-high dirt. One of which had short, blunt fingers stuck through, feebly moving, as if their owner had lost the strength to carry on._

_James stepped forward and began to claw the dirt away from the hand. The dirt wasn't as thick as what had sealed him in, and he was able to pull the hand and then the arm through, letting them flop down as he turned the body over to see if the person was still alive._

_Dark hair, pale skin more gold than his own - James would know him anywhere. "Robbie," he said gently, brushing particles of dirt off his Governor's face. "Robbie Lewis, wake up."_

_Robbie twitched, then groaned. "Hath...?"_

_"It's me," he said, relieved he was no longer alone._


	2. Chapter 2

\- ONE -

 

Lewis looked left towards the forest. He could sense Hathaway side-eyeing him anyway, proof of his mind-reading abilities. "Give over, man," Lewis muttered.

Hathaway shifted, the whisper of fabric against car seat loud in the quiet.

"Maybe they're giving us a break and gone to dinner?" mused Lewis, leaning against the door frame. God, he was so tired.

"Where we should be and all," said Hathaway. "How much longer?"

Lewis shrugged. "I'd say an hour or so."

"We could check our phones."

"We could," said Lewis. "But that would require us moving, and I think I'm actually too tired to do that."

Hathaway sighed. "The glory of policework. You never saw this in Juliet Bravo."

Lewis stared at Hathaway, incredulous. "Juliet Bravo? For god's sakes man - "

"My Gran loved Juliet Bravo," Hathaway interrupted. 

Well, Lewis wasn't going to argue with Hathaway about his Gran's taste in telly. Funny, Val wouldn't ever watch any crime drama, although she did find a laugh in the Thin Blue Line. She had a thing for Rowan Atkinson. "What is is about Rowan Atkinson that women like so much?"

"What? Rowan Atkinson?"

"Yeah."

Hathaway had turned a little, leaning his shoulder against the window, his cornflower shirt nearly merging into the dusk behind him. "You are really asking me this question. No," he held up one hand as Lewis began to speak. "No, I'm really going to answer. People love Rowan Atkinson because he has a funny face. And he is funny."

"I'm not denying that, man, I just don't see why women fall over themselves for him," said Lewis, wondering why he was even talking about Rowan Atkinson in the first place. Hathaway was staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Actually, he was staring at something behind Lewis."What?"

Lewis jerked in surprise at the loud thud and movement on the window next to his head. Wide-eyed, he gawked at the young woman silently screaming at him. Under a real flower crown of daisies and ferns and dandelions she had loose hair the color of ripe wheat and appeared to wear a sleeveless, gauzy white dress. She looked to his left and shrieked "Help me!" before turning and running down the road. She was barefoot, her archaic white dress belted at the waist. She glanced over her shoulder and ran faster.

As Lewis twisted to see what she was running from, a figure appeared next to the car. It - he - slowed enough to bend down and peer into the car. He too had long hair, but dark, and when he met Lewis' eyes and grinned, Lewis was quite frankly reminded of Captain Jack Sparrow. Then he, too, was racing up the road.

"What the hell - " Startled, Lewis froze, then scrabbled for the door handle. By the time he was out of the car Hathaway was halfway towards Sparrow. Just as well, Lewis could catch up to the girl - who promptly darted into the woods on the left. 

Fantastic.

Lewis kept an eye on where she went just as Hathaway reached out one long arm. Sparrow jerked away from Hathaway's fingers and also bolted into the woods. Lewis followed Hathaway, hoping they could keep the car in sight as dusk fell. 

At first it was an easy run. The trees had space enough between them for Lewis to catch glimpses of white and hear the low laughter of Sparrow. All too soon old growth overtook him, dead leaves and fallen twigs crunching underfoot - his shoes were made for city pavements, not rough ground - thin grapevines and whippets of ivy slashing him in the face and torso. Even Hathaway had to slow his headlong rush, cursing under his breath as he tripped over a hidden rock. Lewis helped him up again, trying to hear over the pounding of his heart, the roughness of his own breath.

"Did you see which way they went?" asked Hathaway, brushing his hands free of dirt.

"No," Lewis shook his head, circling around Hathaway. Though it was not cold, he shivered a little. The woods were near full dark and if he were honest with himself, he was a little spooked. "And I've no idea which direction the car is in, either."

A narrow beam of artificial light pierced the gloom, highlighting Hathaway's face and Lewis presumed his own. "Seriously."

Hathaway flicked the torch underneath his chin. "Be prepared is my motto," he solemnly intoned.

"You were a Scout?"

"My father didn't believe in the Scouts," said Hathaway, turning away from Lewis and playing the light into the woods around them. "Thought it would make me a sissy."

Lewis kept silent. His Sergeant rarely let slip such personal matters, and when he did Lewis encouraged him by not interrupting.

"But I was a resourceful child, and I was allowed use of Crevecoeur's library," he looked back at Lewis. "I found what I needed to know."

"I just bet you did," Lewis muttered. 

Hathaway struck a path forward and Lewis followed. He hoped Hathaway knew where he was going, because Lewis was clueless. He'd always liked to believe that he had good survival skills, but there hadn't been a lot of forest where he had grown up, he was used to moor and mountain. What forest there had been was managed, with trees in dead straight lines, ready for the saw. Well, that wasn't strictly true, he had been camping with Gazza and Johnny and Leo a few times in the Borders, but even then they'd had everything they needed; beer, crisps, smokes, tents and good shoes. Not that he necessarily remembered much of those trips...

The trees grew fewer, and they entered a small clearing. Lewis' shoes squelched in mud; a rill burbled out of the ground next to his feet, sloping down towards a jumble of boulders at the edge of the clearing. He stepped onto the edge of firmer ground where the meadow grasses began. He listened closely, heard little beyond the trickle of water, the chirp of insects, the outraged grumbling of two hedgehogs. The light was better without the trees looming overhead, the moon shining bright and full, a few pinprick stars littering the cloudless sky.

"There - " said Hathaway. He bent and plucked a scrap of fabric off of a bramble. "Think it's from her?"

"Mm, could be," Lewis glanced around and realized that they actually had been following a track. He wouldn't have recognized it, but in the better light it was obvious. "Let's see if there's anything at the bottom of the path."

Hathaway led once again. Lewis was beginning to enjoy being outside at night, away from Oxford. He drank in the sweet smell of high summer, the cool warmth of the evening. The perfect night for a romantic getaway, if only he had someone with whom to be romantic. Hathaway didn't really count, although they'd had moments of intense closeness. Thing was, Lewis couldn't just chalk it up to being mates on and off the job. There was a little extra thrill in being with Hathaway at moments like this, an excitement just between the two of them. A frisson of possibility. Or maybe it was all in his head. A lonely old man with no one waiting for him at home besides the cat.

And yet...Hathaway would look at him sometimes, and smile. Not the sardonic or sarcastic, the mightier-than-thou, or the plainly I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that smiles, no, this one was small, and personal, and meant all the more for it. Occasionally they would be at The Trout, or walking along the Cherwell, and Lewis would glance at Hathaway and that slight turn of the lips would be there. It bespoke of fondness, with a hint of deeper feeling beyond.

"It's a barrow!"

"Hmm?" Lewis watched Hathaway disappear from sight as he circled round the pile of stones. If he didn't know any better he would taken the stones to be a tip, some farmer's idea of where to put stones cleared from a field. Except they were of a uniform size (long) and weight (heavy). He wondered if Hathaway now knew where they were. "Recognize it?"

Hathaway appeared on the other side, picking this stone or that one out of the mess with the torch. "No...but these are different from any I've seen before. Some are marked, looks like og-um, but that can't be right. The Picts were never this far down south."

"Well, unless this is helping us find our mystery girl, I say we move on."

"Move on where?" asked Hathaway. "They could be anywhere at this time of the night."

"No need to point out the bleedin' obvious," Lewis motioned towards the barrow. "You see any entrance in that lot?"

"I'll check the top. If they're here, chances are they've already seen or heard us. We've not exactly been quiet and the torch is a dead giveaway."

Lewis shrugged. "Some of the barrows up North were hollow, we used to climb down into them when I was a kid. Looking for treasure, of course."

"Of course," echoed Hathaway faintly. He clambered to the top of the barrow and pointing the torch down. "Hunh."

"What?" Lewis put his hands on his hips and peered at Hathaway. "What do you see, man?"

"There's oh!"

Lewis could only stare, dumbfounded, as Hathaway appeared to jump downwards, stop, then disappear completely in a clunking and clinking of shifting stone.


	3. Chapter 3

_~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_"We can't stay here. Robbie, we can't stay here," James repeated, helping his Governor lean against the wall. He frowned to himself. Lewis was awake, but not exactly coherent. It was a worrisome development - as if the whole thing wasn't worrisome -and James could only hope that getting Lewis out of wherever they were would be an improvement. Had to be an improvement. "I'm going to take a look out here, I'll be back in a moment."_

_Leaving Lewis behind, James took the few steps necessary to check what appeared to be the exit to the chamber. It was even cooler, but fresh air wafted across his face, and the longer strings of glowing stuff hanging from the ceiling swayed gently. Better yet, there were more of them, making the light stronger, so he could see that the floor was well trodden, the dirt packed down hard. The chamber he and Lewis had awoken in was at the end point of the hallway. That was good, in a way, because it meant they didn't have to make a choice over what direction to go in, they could simply leave._

_He returned to Lewis' side, wrapped one arm around Lewis' shoulders, taking his wrist in hand. "Come on, sir, I'm right here."_

_Lewis' eyes remained closed and his head lolled like a drunkard's, but he moved to James' instructions. Their progress was very slow. Nonetheless, by the time James looked back towards the chamber to see how far they had come, it was out of sight. Which was also when he understood the hall was curving towards the left. There had been no other chambers that he could see, at least not any that were obvious to him and he could only hope for an interruption in the corridor. Like a door leading outside of it._

_They had been going for long enough for bodily functions to start making themselves known. James was hungry, thirsty, and he desperately needed the toilet. No chance of finding one here, though, so onwards it must be._

_He checked again, but he still wasn't wearing his watch - neither was Lewis, for that matter, but he thought it was only a few minutes later that he started noticing the walls and the floor turning to rock. The glow worms hadn't changed color, still that pale and soft yet warm light, which meant that whatever was happening, he really was seeing the dirt change to stone. A few more steps and the corridor opened up into a wide chamber filled with...candles. Fat pillars, tall tapers, all creamy white, scenting the chamber, no, it was a cave, a proper cave, scenting it with the sweet smell of beeswax on top of the odor of dry stone. The cave was so large he couldn't see the its roof. He hoped there weren't any stalactites ready to drop down like daggers. A stupid childhood paranoia, for which he has his merciless siblings to blame. If he ever has children, he will never allow them to be taunted for fearing things. Any things, no matter how ridiculous.  
_

In the distance he heard the burble and rush of water, and there, sitting on a pillar of flowstone that looked remarkably like a throne, was the young woman who had slammed her hand against the car window before...before they were here. She was still wearing her flower crown and white dress, it was a Greek Chiton, but now the dress is shorter, for James saw that she had put on Greek sandals that lace up to the knee. Her name was surely not Atalanta for there are no Golden Apples at her feet, yet that was who he was reminded of, from the book Scarlett had given him when they were but children at Crevecoeur. 

_"Welcome," said the woman with a smile. She stood and approached them, Lewis suddenly heavy against his shoulder._

_She was as tall as he - taller? No, smaller - James couldn't decide. The breeze brough with it florals with a deeply fruity undertone, if that fruit was going off. Behind the woman, in spite of the breeze, the candles barely flickered._

_"Come, Singer, and meet the Mistress."_

_"Wait," James said, reaching out to touch her shoulder as she turned to walk away. He hesitated, though, because he didn't like...maybe it was the look in her eye, or that perfume. She felt off. "Who are you? Where are we? What's happening here?"_

_The woman looked back at him, tilted her head to one side. "Your presence was requested, Singer, so we brought you here. Your companion fought to stay by your side, so he is here as well."_

_None of the surreal conversation was making any sense, but James kept trying, all evidence to the contrary. "But where is here? This cave? Who's this Mistress?"_

_"Come and see," the woman replied. After a moment she turned and walked away, clearly expecting them to follow._

_He had to get Lewis out, that was of paramount importance. Which meant they were going wherever the woman was going. She still hadn't told him her own name._

_As a little group they went towards the right, walking on more flowstone striated in cream and beige and yellow ochre, with occasional streaks of burnt umber. Atalanta plucked a burning torch from its sconce at the entrance of another corridor, a passage so narrow they were forced to walk single file, James was torn between keeping Lewis between himself and Atalanta. If she did something suddenly, he would have no way of protecting Lewis. Alternatively, he couldn't trust Lewis to stay behind, either. The man was not awake, though he now blinked heavily and slowly, moaning under his breath. James grabbed Lewis by the hand and followed Atalanta, grateful that the roof of the passage was high enough to keep the torch 's smoke and heat out of his face._

_It was impossible to tell how long they had walked, but after awhile they arrive at an alcove. It was reminiscent of the chamber James had kicked his way into, except made of stone. Chunky candles impressed with flower petals and leaves flickered in tiny alcoves cut into the rock. In the center of the room was a waist-high flowstone pillar with a deep depression in the top. It looked like a natural bowl, though how that was even possible was a mystery to him. The bowl was filled with clear water gently flowing over the edge. Deep pink Lotus blossoms floated in the water._

_Atalanta paused, closed her eyes and gestured with both hands, touching them to her brow and then over her heart, silently mouthing words. Clearly a prayer, or perhaps a salutation. A moment later she turned and continued down the passage._

_They took a sharp left turn and the passage ended. In front of James and Lewis was another forest. It wasn't the same forest, no, though the twilight was thick. This forest was something out of Rivendell, complete with burbling brook, moss underfoot, little colored glass lamps with white candles hanging from low tree branches and set upon basketball-sized rocks here and there. Next to the brook sat a group of people on a triangle of logs, who had all turned to stare at him._

_"Singer," said Atalanta. She pointed towards the people. "The Mistress awaits you."_

_Well if that didn't sound ominous he didn't know what else could. Keeping Lewis close, James made his way to the party, quickly noted four men and three women of varying ages. They sat on the logs, which were flat on top, with a small fire in the center of the gathering. They looked...normal. Almost. There was literally a gleam to their eyes, a soft silver sheen that defied all logic and science._

_One person sat on an Ashanti royal stool facing James across the fire. They were completely covered in veils the color of fog, and so slim he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. "Singer. Sing for us a song of your faith."_

_The voice was low and lovely and he felt it almost more than he heard it. James sensed a viciousness waiting to be unleashed. He kept a firm grasp of Lewis, making sure Lewis wouldn't unwittingly become a target of whatever was about to happen._

_"Stand his companion at the side."_

_Alarmed, James backed up a step into Lewis. Atalanta took Lewis' other hand with a reassuring smile. She gestured towards the left, where he saw what he had missed on his first observation, a shallow bench. He allowed her to take Lewis and sit him down._

_"Singer, will you not sing for me?"_

_"And if I don't? I mean, come on, this isn't Fairyland," he said._

_One of the men at her feet smiled, and it wasn't pleasant._

_"Isn't it just?" she answered, that same sharkish smile on her lips._

_"Ma'am - Mistress," James corrected, seeing the thunderous looks sent his way. "I...do you have a preference?"_

_The Mistress merely clasped her hands in her lap._

_James couldn't think of anything in particular to sing. If he had been there by himself he would have told her no, he wasn't about to sing for anyone. But Lewis - what might be safe? Unfortunately the only songs coming to mind were of religious orientation, and he wasn't sure that was appropriate. Then again, she hadn't told him what she'd like to hear, so - ._

_"Riu riu chiu la guarda ribera  
Dios guarda el lobo a nuestra cordera - "_

_"Oh!" One of the women straightened and clapped her hands in delight, rattled something in Spanish too fast for James to understand. She stood up, motioned for him to continue on._

_"El lobo rabioso la quiso morder_  
Mas Dios poderoso la supo defender  
Quisole hazer que no pudiesse pecar  
No aun original es Virgen no tuviera" 

_As James began the chorus again, the woman joyously joined in, snapping her fingers and stomping her feet in rhythm like a Flamenco dancer. He finished the song (one of his favorites for choral performances) and waited._


	4. Chapter 4

\- TWO -

 

_Jesus!_

"Hathaway!" he cried. "Hathaway, where are you, man?" Lewis started up the pile, then slowed to a stop. If Hathaway was buried under there somewhere, Lewis could be stepping on him right that second. However, the easiest way to find him would also be to start from the top - okay, yes, that was the plan.

Near the top Lewis threw himself flat. He pushed with his toes until he reached the lip where Hathaway had fallen in. The torch was within reach - he took a deep breath, grabbed the torch and shone it downwards. 

There was a hole. At the very bottom of the hole - it was a relatively short drop, maybe twice Hathaway's height - stood two stones on their ends, all that was missing was a lintel for it to look like the entrance to the Underworld. There was...no blood. Hathaway wasn't there, and there was no blood. Lewis frowned. Hathaway fell, he should therefore be in the hole, waiting for Lewis to rescue him.

Whatever had happened to Hathaway, the answer was clearly below Lewis' feet. He checked his phone - dead.

Alright then. He spotted where he wanted to land and carefully swung one leg up and over the edge, then the other. Time for another deep breath - okay - let go -


	5. Chapter 5

_~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_James was pretty sure saying something like, "Seriously? You want me to make a bargain with you for my life?" and "You're joking!" would get him badly injured, if not killed outright. Besides, he still had no idea where they were, or how they were going to get out._

_"The choice is yours, singer," said the Mistress. She held out her arm and the ancient gentleman on the stump next to her took her hand. "Hector made his choice," her head turned towards Hector. "Are you content with your choice?"_

_"Aye" was the only word James understood of what Hector said. A Celtic language, though he couldn't tell which one._

_"There's nothing to fear from me, and your task is simple; sing to me a song unsung for many years."_

_He blinked at her. "What...kind of music do you like?"_

_"That's for you to discover."_

_He repeated his words from earlier. "And if I don't? Discover what you like?"_

_Movement and a groan brought him to his senses. Lewis. Always, Lewis. Lewis had a daughter and grandchild. James nodded to himself. "Do you have faith, ma'am?"_

_Her head tilted to one side. "Do I pray to your god?"_

_James saw the chasm at his feet and mentally stepped to one side. "Faith...it is what it is."_

_"I have patience."_

_"Good enough," he said. He tried to be objective, but all he could think about was what he was going to sing. It occurred to him that he should also make demands, because maybe he was hallucinating, or had struck his head, or was in a coma. That made far more sense than where he appeared to be. Unless he'd been drugged - that would make sense of this than this whole Faerie Queene slash Tempest scenario. He was torn between feeling like a fool for playing along, and really believing what was happening. If legend was right, he had to be very, very, very careful. "For how long do I sing? And what is my prize should I win?"_

_"Clever," murmured the woman who had sung Riu Chiu with him. Her gaze was sharp with approval._

_"Your prize is to leave here with your companion."_

_"...And stay if I fail."_

_The Mistress laughed. "You understand me completely, Singer."_

_"Are questions allowed?"_

_"Riddles?"_

_James managed not to groan. He was a smart man. According to the tests, smarter than most, yet not including people, there were two things that easily stumped him; Scrabble, and riddles. He knew the big words but could never produce them when the tiles were staring him in the face. Riddles...no. He simply could not work his way through them. "They might be riddles."_

_"Good. I love riddles."_

_Of course she would._

_"I shall answer your questions with riddles."_

_Wonderful._

_"You have not asked why I should want this to be so."_

_No. No he hadn't. He'd accepted what was happening...which was unlike him, now that he thought about it._

_"I grow weary, Singer, yet sleep eludes me. I once had a player for entertainments, but they escaped my notice, and I have been bereft since."_

_James could practically hear Lewis' in his ear - "a-HA, it's a clue!" He shifted from foot to foot before making his offer. There were no holes in it that he could see. "Mistress, we are detectives. Perhaps we can find this player for you. An even trade. We bring him back to you [the poor bastard], you have your...entertainments, and we return from whence we came."_

_It was stupid, really, how ridiculous he felt as he listened to the formality of the words coming out of his mouth. Not even realistic, just a pastiche of every single crappy movie he'd ever seen about fairies and elves and Leanan Sidhe._

_The Mistress leaned forward. "You can do this thing?"_

_"Yes," he said. They were dead if they didn't, and so long as there was no time limit involved - . For apparently he had accepted this strange reality as being, well, real. So he should play by the rules, right? Even though it was ridiculous, the whole thing, everything, Jesus God what was he even doing? He fiercely wished that someone would just wake him up already._

_"You both are de-tec-tives?"_

_"Yes, ma'am. Mistress. We investi-, we solve mysteries."_

_She stilled and James found he couldn't move. The air grew unbearably thick, making it hard from him to breathe, like that time he was in America and went on the Maid of the Mists II at Niagara Falls. He choked as the air forced its way down his throat, expanding in his belly, filling him to the containment of his skin._

_And then it was over. He staggered from the release of inner pressure, caught himself just before he fell [he had fallen, Lewis looking at him in wide-eyed horror]_

_"I set my oath upon it. Singer, you shall stay while your companion goes forth to find my Player."_

_A thin man, balding man of middle age and bushy black eyebrows sprang to his feet. He cried, "A Bargain is struck!"_


	6. Chapter 6

\- THREE -

 

Lewis roused, blinked hard to shake the dizziness from his brain. It was very bright in the room - hospital? 

"Robbie?"

He slowly turned his head, wincing at the spike of pain. There was a figure next to him, blonde hair - short. "Mm, Laura?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Head hurts," He closed his eyes, felt a soft touch on the top of his head. "How'd I get here?"

"You don't remember?"

"No. Mm...was I chasing someone? I fell...?"

"You did. Richard Jarrett. You and Riley - "

Lewis raised a hand. "Don't say any more," he rasped. "I shouldn't know in case someone asks me in court."

"The inquest, I'm afraid," Laura said. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "A few more hours here before you can come home. I called Lyn and let her know what's happened."

"Thanks, pet," He could only imagine how that conversation had gone. At least he wasn't within hearing distance for it. Guilt immediately troubled him. Of course Lyn hated talking to Laura, Lyn hated talking to any woman who wasn't her mum. He considered himself lucky that Lyn still wanted him to be her dad despite everything. 

"Must hurt pretty bad to keep you quiet," Laura murmured. She squeezed his shoulder, then retrieved her bag from the chair where she had been waiting. "I've got a few errands to run, but I'll be back before visiting hours are over. Call me if they decide to spring you early, yeah?"

"Will do."

"Alright, I'll see you later. I've got to organize Mark's fitting for Saturday and get some adjustments made to my dress. At least you're all taken care of, bye!"

Once he could no longer hear the tapping of her boot heels, Lewis let himself relax. She was exhausting, mostly in good ways. Right now what he wanted was rest and recuperation, preferably by himself. 

He groped by the bedrail, pressed buttons until he found the one that raised him up partway. At least he hadn't called the nurse by mistake. Peering through slitted eyelids he saw a bottle of water with attached mouthpiece, managed to grab it and sip until it was halfway finished. Thirst slaked, he looked to see if he had a roommate, but no, just an empty bed waiting for its next patient.

He closed his eyes again - god, so damned bright in the room even with the window blinds halfway drawn. What he really needed was pen and paper, he would ask a nurse for both as soon as the bleedin' migraine went away.

...

"Lewis. Inspector Lewis, can you hear me?"

Lewis woke with a start to a semi-dark room, the lamp on his bedside table casting warm yellow light over his bed and a covered tray. "Sir?"

"Do I look like a 'sir' to you?"

Innocent was amused rather than angry, which made Lewis feel a little better. "Ma'am."

"So," she said, taking the seat Laura had vacated earlier. "What can you tell me."

Blunt and to the point, that was Innocent's way. And Lewis was glad of it. Hooper had always made insinuations, even when he was making the effort not to. It had driven Lewis spare, to the point where he'd actually thought about asking for a transfer or leaving the police altogether. "From what I recall, ma'am, me and Riley had gone to Findlay House on account of there being a burglary resulting in a serious assault upon the manager, one Munro Shaw. We'd already interviewed Shaw here when we decided to return to Findlay House to take a second look. We'd cleared the first floor and the second. I was in the hallway by the stairs when I saw Riley pointing towards the ceiling. The burglar had cut the lights - that's what had triggered the silent alarm in the first place - and Uniform found no evidence that he had remained on site, so we figured we were good to take another gander around."

Lewis glanced at the side table, reached for the bottle. Innocent handed it to him with an impatient expression. He took a sip, continued. "Now Riley hadn't pointed his torch up, he was just pointing his finger, but I could see there was a hatch to the attic. What's more, I could tell someone was there because there was a little trail of dust falling from the join. I went to help him reach the pull - you know how slight Riley is, I figured it would be easy for him to step into my hands to get it - when the damned thing swung open, hit him right in the shoulder. Burglar was crouched on the stairs, the bastard jumped off and headed in the other direction as soon as he saw me, but not before he kicked Riley right in the face."

"Since you asked, Sergeant Riley will be fine," said Innocent. "He's got an even harder skull than you."

_Thanks_ , ma'am. "I don't think he meant to hit Riley - "

"Please," she said, holding up a hand. "Save your commentary on our burglar's motives for the inquest," her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Has Dr. Hobson already told you?"

He shook his head. "Just that there is one. She didn't go into detail as to the manner of death, but I can imagine it has something to do with the fact that I was pushed off a bridge."

"Go on."

"Riley waved me on, so I followed the burglar out of the house and down Shortland Street. He took the stairs to Walker's Close but dodged towards the footbridge the last minute. You know how it doglegs at that blind corner, well, that's where he got me. There's a wire fence there, I don't know how I ended up on the ground."

"You were extremely lucky," said Innocent. "It was explained to me by Councilor Bell that due to either the erosion of stone over time, or the machinations of jobless hooligans, that the fence was not attached to the wall of that tenement building. I'm not sure he is convinced of one over the other, but the result is that when you rounded the corner, your burglar, Richard Jarrett, hurled you over the side after turning back the fencing. Over you went. Proving that you have more lives than the proverbial cat, just this week, as part of their beautification scheme," Innocent used air quotes. "the Council removed the iron railing along the pavement just below the footbridge."

"Ah..." Lewis vaguely recalled the area. "Because that's where the Tivoli Theatre is, right."

"They're putting in rose bushes, so your fall was broken by fresh soil brought in for the planting."

"Always knew I liked roses for a reason," quipped Lewis. "Better thorns in my arse than metal spikes."

"Unfortunately for Mr. Jarrett, after pushing you over, he never got his balance back and quite literally   
stumbled over the parapet into the road. Even more unfortunately for him was the articulated lorry traveling in the same lane."

"What are we looking at for scheduling?"

Innocent rippled, a combination head shake and shrug that never failed to amuse Lewis for some reason. Reminded him of a cat. "The family doesn't seem particularly perturbed by this turn of events. I expect the Coroner will either be brief, but I don't think we'll be seeing him before September."

"Good," he murmured, abruptly exhausted.

"Now that I've brought you that happy news, I'll be off. Mr. Innocent is accompanying me to the theatre this evening and I need a new dress."

Maybe he needed a new dress too, judging by all the finery and frippery involved in everyone's lives these days. "Have a good evening, ma'am."

She regarded him under raised eyebrows, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. "Good night, Robbie."

As soon as she was gone it occurred to Lewis that he should have asked her to get him some reading material. He flicked on the tv instead, settled for the early news and a repeat of that drama about the copper who went back in time to the 1970s. They'd gotten a hell of a lot of that right. Jesus, the things he'd seen, and that was just in the nick! In retrospect it was amazing none of mates had died of the smoking, never mind the drugs and the drink. Y'had to have a certain temperment for police work, that was true enough. Maybe that's why he and Ali - well.

No chance of that happening with Riley, even if Riley only went for blokes. Lewis sat up and extended the side-table over his lap. His dinner tray held a plate with a lump of something on a single insulting lettuce leaf, a small white bun, a tea bag, and an apple. The something's sauce was...salty. He was hungry, though, so he scraped off the sauce and ate a bit of the...chicken, which he thought might have been stuffed with some sort of amalgamation of ham and cheese. 

Possibly.

Thankfully Laura popped in the room just as he finished the bun. 

"Come on, I've sprung you," she said, plopping an overnight bag on the chair. She opened it and brought out his worn jeans, pants and socks, a white tee shirt and dark grey pullover. His favorites, in short.

"Thanks, love."

Happily wearing clean clothing that did not smell like hospital detergent, Lewis was content to sit next to Laura as she drove them home. He looked forward to collapsing on his own couch, drinking a - no, no alcohol tonight, alas. Saturday was going to be another matter entirely, which reminded him: "How's the dress?"

"I'm happy with it. I'm not convinced peach is my color, but needs must."

"You're going to look gorgeous."

She glanced at him with a smile. "You always say the right things, Robbie."

"I have my moments."


	7. Chapter 7

_~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_James watched the Spanish woman lead Lewis away, babbling closely in his ear all the while. She glanced back at James, the corner of her mouth upturned a little. He itched to follow, to make sure Lewis wasn't put back in that damned dirt hollow._

_"He'll be fine," said Atalanta, who had materialized by his side, one hand tight around his wrist. She was very tall. "Maria will make sure he awakens without injury."_

_"She had better. He's your only chance to get back your player."_

_Atalanta bared her teeth in what might have appeared to be a smile. "Not my player, Singer."_

_"I do have a name."_

_She quirked an eyebrow._

_No, he wasn't stupid enough to tell her, even if he didn't believe in fairies and magic. The history of the world was littered with tales of people who lost everything by giving away their names. Not even a nickname was going to pass his lips. And another thing, what did it mean that he had named her, even if he'd never spoken it aloud? Probably nothing. "So, what now?"_

_"You eat, and drink, and rest. After, you shall play."_

_"You're joking if you think I'm going to put anything you lot have made down my throat."_

_She shrugged. "The choice is yours, Singer."_

_Damned straight it was, and that's the way it was going to continue to be._

_Atalanta nodded towards the campfire behind him. The Mistress was gone, gliding off over the arched, wooden footbridge that had blinked into existence as soon as she had risen to her feet, Hector at her side. Apart from Maria the same company remained, looking at James curiously and talking amongst themselves. At his glance the thin man motioned him over. Not knowing what else to do, James went._

_"Welcome, Singer," said the thin man. "I'm Arnaud, and," he said, pointing to each person in turn. "that's Johannes, Huw, and Nichol. Maria'll be back, but them two are Ismailah and Katerin. Come, sit. Bide our company for a while."_

_Now that James was closer, he could see that they were old, or old-fashioned. There was no modern spark about them, nothing that bespoke of satellite tv and iPods, cell phones and the internet. And it wasn't just because of their clothing, either, which was not quite right. A mish-mash of threadbare trousers and skirts, hobnailed leather lace-up boots, weathered woolen sweaters and shawls. A riotous amalgam of safety-pin patterns on leather jackets and colored corduroys, heavy blue eyeshadow with afros, cowboy boots, peacock feather earrings chained to pierced lips._

_For the first time he felt a liquid trill of fear in his belly. How on earth was Lewis going to get him out of here, especially when he didn't even know he was supposed to do so? The Mistress had been quite clear in her instruction._

_"This is the Bargain, Singer. You will remain here while your companion awakens and finds my Player. If he does not succeed, you will remain."_

_If James had had a Rosary to hand, he would have used it. His hands were already out of sight behind his back and he clenched them hard. He tried not to let any emotion reach his face, but the Mistress was clearly aware of how he felt. Probably because she'd seen the anger and rage before._

_"He will know nothing of his task. I find the mystery quite enjoyable," she said. Her head tilted from one side to the other. "Will he? Won't he? Who can tell?"_

_"That's hardly fair," said James. He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. How could he let Lewis know what to look for, the man had barely opened his eyes since James had clawed him out of that chamber._

_"Why should I be fair? You were not fair to me."_

_"Time will not run back and fetch the Age of Gold," James said._

_"It will if I will it," she snapped back._

_Ah. Milton had been wrong when he wrote that line, too. Hard as it was, he kept his mouth shut. No need to piss off the woman - deity? fairy? figure of myth and legend? - more. Wherever that path led, James had no doubt the consequences would be unpleasant._

_"Now," she said, leaning back once again. "Your companion has all the time he needs to find my Player - "_

_"And how is he supposed to do that without any clues as to what he looks like, or what he does?"_

_"Isn't it exciting?"_


	8. Chapter 8

\- FOUR -

 

Two days later Lewis was back on active duty. Which was good, light duty always meant hours of catching up on paperwork, performance evaluations, projected targets for the year, interminable meetings with the CPS over testimony to be made and arguments over testimony given. Even Laura had sent him off with a good bye kiss and a comment on how glad she was for her old bear to be going out of hibernation.

At his desk he reached into his suit jacket pocket and brought out the watch and phone Laura had slipped him at breakfast.

"Found these in your things, but I don't remember seeing them before? Thought you might want to take a look once you were at work, see if you could find their owner."

Lewis laid the watch on the desk, then without taking his eyes from it, fumbled in the top left drawer for the magnifying glass. Even without the magnifying glass the watch was plainly expensive. The band was of brushed metal, but not steel, he was pretty sure. It was untarnished, so not pure silver, but definitely a white metal. The band was well worn, with a repair where it attached to the watch. Speaking of which, the watch was a classic, Roman numerals and a moon phase guide.

He flipped it over and read the inscription:

**Congratulations  
** DS J. Hathaway  
\- Sebastian 

Hathaway, never heard of him. A DS, though, so maybe someone loaned to Thames Valley? He moved on to the mobile - there were still two bars. There were quite a number of contacts, and Sebastian wasn't one of them. Lewis gave an irritated sigh at the lack of an ICE, too. It was so much easier when there was a Mum or a Dad listed. However, there was a Home - he'd missed it on his first scroll-through. Using his desk phone, he dialed the Home number, waited for it to connect. He idly tapped on the mobile's File icon, started going through the picture gallery.

Six double rings later, just as he was about to give up, an answering machine clicked on. The voice was male, deep, and posh, the message simple and direct.

_"You've reached James Hathaway, leave a message."_

"Uh," Lewis stuttered, looking at the mobile in disbelief. "uh, sorry, wrong number."

He went through the next few pictures - yes. It really was true. But how? He picked up his desk phone and dialed the Duty Sergeant. "Phil, it's Robbie. Have we got a Detective Sergeant James Hathaway here right now? No? Do me a favor, check the other nicks? Ta."

It was unlikely the hospital had made a mistake, putting someone else's phone and watch in his bag, which was the answer he got when he called to double check - no J. Hathaway had been admitted. Evidence did not have any answers for him, either, with no Hathaway related material in Jarrett's sack of stolen belongings.

So why the hell - _how_ the hell - was there a picture of himself and this tall stranger, arms slung companionably around Lewis, chin resting on Lewis' shoulder, the two of them grinning at the camera? Was this James Hathaway? How did Lewis have absolutely no memory of him? Who took the picture?

Right. Should he wait for this Hathaway to return his call, or go to Innocent? He sighed again and went to the numbers dialed list. It took but a moment to see which number was the most called. It was his own. 

Under 'Robbie'.

Just what the hell was going on here?

There was the nick, the morgue, the lab, Laura's personal number, Innocent's home number.

Lewis frowned. If this Hathaway knew everyone, how come no one knew about him? Something was very fishy and the only answer he could come up with was that Hathaway was either delusional with some serious intelligence sources, or...or what? Maybe Lewis was really the delusional one and this was all a dream while he was still in the hospital, in a coma or heavily drugged.

He shook his head. No, there would be some sort of sign or clue...there just would. Alright. Time to check the usual sources. Unfortunately there were no Hathaways in the phone book, nor on BTs unlisted numbers. Okay, that was not unusual, plenty of people no longer had landlines. Hathaway wasn't on the duty roster for the entirety of Thames Valley. The MET database came up with a single V. Hathaway, retired, in Cornwall. And what about the tax rolls - ah, an address. He scribbled it down and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

Finally he reached the conclusion that had Riley been in the office, he would have told Lewis off for not starting with the Internet in the first place. Grumbling to himself about the audacity of Sergeants, Lewis fired up his browser and entered 'Detective Sergeant James Hathaway' into the search engine. 

Hunh.

There were a few pictures from the newspapers, the same bloke as in the mobile photos. And...Lewis was in quite a few of them as well. 

-Twin Girls Rescued From Suicidal Dad  
-Thames Valley Police Capture Bartlesby; DI Lewis & DS Hathaway To Address the Public. 

The YouTube links were a surprise, though. Lewis clicked and was halfway through the video before he figured out how to turn the volume up on his computer. He furtively glanced towards the window and bullpen beyond to make sure no one was nearby. Not that anyone would accuse Robbie Lewis of skiving, no sir, no ma'am.

The music was a mixture of folk and...something foreign. Lewis was able to pick out a few classical themes in the second video. He wondered if it what Mark's fiancee called 'world music'. Didn't appeal much to him, but those clubs were places to start his investigation. Besides, he was beginning to warm to Hathaway. Hathaway's [voice](http://youtu.be/hNjLlhns9qY) was low and rough and altogether sweet, filled with an unnameable yearning that unexpectedly called to Lewis. The pictures of the two of them together bespoke of friendliness and affection. He found he quite liked the idea of being that close to another man, odd though the thought was. Maybe it was because he felt a bit at sea, not quite right in his own skin.

So intent was he that the clap of hands startled him near out of his chair. "Jesus, man. I see you're feeling better."

Riley grinned and strutted over to his own desk. "Right as rain I am. Do my ears deceive me, or are you watching videos on the actual internet?"

"Ha bloody ha," said Lewis, pausing Hathaway mid-plea for the return of his guitar. "Listen, have you ever heard of a Detective Sergeant Hathaway?"

Riley shook his head, shrugged. "Nah. Doesn't ring a bell. Why, someone you know?"

"Just a name I keep running across."

"Right," said Riley, looking at the files on his desk with a grimace. "Where shall we start today? Chandrasekhar's arson case, CPS is asking us for more on Liam Powell's statement, preferably with transcript - I know, I know they can do it themselves, but I'm trying to stay on Davis' good side. Then there's DC pretty Preeti's murder case that wants looking after - "

Lewis pursed his lips. After a moment he got up and closed the office door. "Ryan. I can't have you talking about her like that. She's an officer of the law, and a damned good one."

"She _is_ pretty," Riley spread his hands in annoyance. "what's the harm in saying that she's pretty?"

"You're not a bad copper," Lewis continued. He put his hands on his hips. "and if you keep plowing on you'll make it through the ranks. If you want to. But you can't keep on saying these things about women."

Riley smirked. "Not even to you?"

"Especially not to me, or anyone else in this nick," growled Lewis. He liked Riley, he did, but the man had about as much self-preservation as a sheet of paper by a bonfire. "It isn't the seventies anymore, or the eighties, or, hell, even the nineties. Y'just can't say things like that, it's not done."

Riley nodded, the smile still on his lips but turning bitter. "Sir."

Lewis sighed. He hadn't meant to turn the afternoon sour. The truth was that if you liked people, if you liked women as people, if you valued their minds over their bodies you could learn a thing or two. Times changed, and even though he was a copper who had seen a lot, the failure of people who refused to learn disturbed him. A person could change so much by doing so very little! He covered his disappointment with Riley's Stone Age attitude with the computer, closing the browser window and muting the sound. He gathered up the watch and phone, grabbed his coat, said, "See if you can get Archive to make us a transcript, if not, do it yourself. I don't want Davis or Rothman beating down our door."

"Where are you going?"

"To see a man about a guitar."

Traffic was as snarled as ever, giving Lewis time to wonder what he could do about Riley. It was extremely unlikely he could change the man's mind about anything, though he'd managed it in the past. The real question was, how long did he put up with this kind of nonsense before calling it a day. Or worse, what if Innocent heard about something stupid, and came to discuss it with Lewis? Who very rightly would be taken to task for letting his Sergeant get away with it in the first place. 

Even though he wasn't letting Riley getting away with anything. Because Lewis had been keeping track. Not with anything he kept at work, but his private journal at home, kept under lock and key where not even Laura had access to it. Tom Chapman had been the one to tell him that, so long ago. A place every policeman had to tell his most secret thoughts, better than a wife because it wouldn't talk back to you. Maybe not verbally, thought Lewis darkly, but still there, silently judging with proof besides.

"Yes!" he said as a car pulled out of its parking space right in front of him. Maybe luck was with him after all. He put coins in the meter and strode off to Estaminet.

From the outside Estaminet looked like just another hole-in-the-wall bar, flyers pasted to the door, faint remains of blood drops and vomit staining the sidewalk, the strong odor of urine when the breeze shifted. The inside, however, was completely different.

"I'll just go get the shift manager," said the bloke who'd opened the door. He was slight and skinny and took off towards the stairs behind the bar as Lewis were chasing him with his baton extended. Lewis shoved his hands into his pockets and turned in a small circle, whistling to himself. The place was nice, a large room with an eclectic mishmash of non-matching wooden tables and chairs. The floor was wooden and wavy, the walls painted dark red and dark brown, accented with nature photographs. A mezzanine ran along three walls, booths and tables underneath, a comfy looking dark brown leather couch and matching library armchairs were in front of the gas fireplace, one of those old-fashioned jobs made with a jumble of logs instead of the sleek and modern selection of pale river stone he saw in home improvement shows on tv. Above all was the skylight that formed the peak of the roof, allowing overcast afternoon light to illuminate the entire bar. The effect was striking, and lovely, and made Lewis send up a silent wish to win the lottery so he could build an entire home like this somewhere.

Generic rock music was playing over the speakers, the kind that Riley loved and Lewis detested. Give him some folk music, or at least Billy Connolly and Gerry Rafferty. It was too damned early for guitar wanking and drummers who had no sense of aesthetics.

"Inspector, what can I help you with?"

Lewis turned around and faced the speaker, a young blonde woman with an easy smile and cold eyes. "You are?"

"Daniela Sobinsky. shift manager."

Taking the image of Hathaway he'd had printed up - his own face cropped out during the process so as not to create biases for the possible witness - he showed her the picture. She frowned.

"Yeah...his name's..George? James? Justin? Something like that."

"James," piped the skinny bloke standing behind her. He smiled nervously, didn't cross his arms so much as wrap them around his torso. "Plays with Lucky sometimes. He's cute."

Cute, right. Lewis tucked the picture back inside his coat. "When did you see him last?"

"Oh," the bloke said, glancing quickly at Daniela.

Daniela stepped back, her mouth pinched. Lewis didn't envy the bloke his afternoon.

"He's here like, one or two nights a month. Sometimes with that band, the Green Branch, y'know? Sometimes he comes by on Wednesdays for open mike. Like I said, he's cute, nice voice, _great_ body."

Ah... "So last week, then?"

"Yeah, sure."

Not the most resounding of affirmatives, but Lewis would take it. He said his goodbyes and headed back to the car. At least he knew Hathaway actually existed, now.

Forty minutes later he pulled up in front of the home address he'd written down. Turned out to be a four storey Edwardian home refurbished as flats. 'Hathaway' had been handwritten on paper and slid next to the bottom right buzzer. When no one answered, Lewis picked the next buzzer up and was completely unsurprised when the door clicked open without him having to say a word. He shook his head; the complacency of people. No matter how many times you told them not to open to the door to strangers, they did. Always assumed it was a friend, or the pizza man, or a neighbor who'd been locked out rather than a burglar or rapist.

He knocked on Hathaway's door but as expected, there was no answer. He sighed and frowned, stared blindly at the floor. Okay, a dead end? Or just a lead that hadn't quite turned out how he had expected?

He nodded a hello and stepped aside as an elderly gentleman turned into the hall, carrying an easel and heading towards the front door.

"Hallo, Inspector! How's the day, today?"

Lewis looked him over: khaki trousers, white cable-knit sweater, Black Watch tartan shirt peeking over the collar of the sweater, black Fisherman's cap, well-used, cognac colored leather messenger bag worn crosswise, boat shoes. Unbidden, a name popped into his head. "Hello, Mr. Williams. How's your Lucy?"

Mr. Williams pinked with pleasure. "Well, well. Just an ingrown toenail and some dental work and she'll be right as rain. Can't wait to bring her home from the vet's. Mrs. Bidwell and Frankie are so lonely without her."

Lewis smiled, as if he had any idea who Mrs. Bidwell and Frankie were.

"I'd stay and chat but I've got to get painting before the light goes," Williams said as he eased past. "Say hello to James for me!"

"I will," Lewis replied jauntily "I will," he repeated to himself. He had half a mind to simply shove a note under Hathaway's door and hope for the best. He was jingling his keys in his hand when the glare of the overhead light on a particularly shiny key tripped his imagination. What if - no. No, there was no way that could possibly work, that was the stuff of contrivance and late night television drama.

But what if...?

Without allowing himself to feel any more foolish than he already did, Lewis shoved the key in the lock and turned it hard, half-expecting only a painful scrape on his fingers as he did so. As if by magic, the door opened.


	9. Chapter 9

_~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_James was beginning to see the appeal of the Mistress' Bargain. In short, Fairyland was fairly boring. Maybe it was because he had nothing better to do that sit around and chat with the others. He didn't dare eat the food, or drink the water or whatever it was they had in those glasses. He didn't deem it safe no matter what they said. They weren't fairies, but they'd been here an awfully long time, and he didn't trust them one bit. Not even Atalanta, who had fucked off somewhere else as soon as the Mistress has disappeared between the trees._

_"It's not the same as it was," said Nichol._

_James thought he was the youngest, 20 or maybe 21. Nichol was stocky and ginger and spotty, with bulging eyes and an unfortunate underbite that made him look like a close relation to Hazel and Fiver from Watership Down. "How so?"_

_Nichol frowned and shook his head. "Back when I came here, there were lots of people about, and food, more food than I'd ever seen apart from Saint's days. There were mummers and singers, strengthmen."_

_"What the hell is a mummer?" asked Katerin, grimacing and twitching away from Ismailah, who had started making tiny, tiny cornrows in Katerin's afro. "Don't pull so hard."_

_"It's like panto," said James, stretching his legs towards the fire. "But with masks. More like a masked ball, actually, with fools and not for the kiddies."_

_Katerin looked at him._

_"Like Punch and Judy," James tried to explain. "but as real people, not puppets."_

_"Oh," she said. "I think I saw that on holiday in Brighton."_

_Yes, well. Before James had a chance to ask for more information, she looked him with wide eyes. He watched her pick at her cuticles. Oh. Not as tough as she appeared, then. He could see she was desperate to ask him a question, and wondered if it was what he wanted to ask her. "What do you want to know?"_

_She frowned and looked down."What, what year is it?"_

_Oh, shit. This was what he had to look forward to if Lewis didn't do his job. "It's the new century, 2012."_

_"Oh jesus, jesus," Katerin said, clapping both hands to her forehead. Ismailah released Katerin's hair and stumbled away, slumping hard onto the ground. She moaned and pressed her palms to the ground._

_James wasn't sure what to do. He glanced over at the boys, but they only gave him sad, knowing smiles back. So, not their first time. "I'm sorry," he said, slipping off of his log to crouch next to the women. "How long has it been?"_

_Eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks, Katerin rolled her head on her shoulders like a mourner at a funeral and said, "I had a fight with my boyfriend, went for a walk. Some guy asked me for a smoke in the park, there was a light - me mum's probably dead by now!"_

_Ismailah remained folded over on her knees. James could hear her whispering, caught an 'inshallah' and moved away from her. He felt guilty for asking. Would he want to know? Yes...though he'd hope to spare Lewis such news. Outliving Lyn would be a horror._

_And it would be James' fault._

_"Takes awhile to adjust," said Huw. He picked at a loose thread from the knee of his trousers, nodded at the women. "It's the shock, when you find out how long it's been."_

_Obviously. James wasn't sure how to ask Huw - he wasn't sure it was politic._

_Huw saw his struggle and laughed silently. "The good year of our lord 1595," he motioned towards Nichol and Arnaud. "1695 and 1704. Don't know about Ismailah, she just appeared on day. Katerin's never said, but I think she's the youngest of us."_

_"And Hector?"_

_"He was old when we got here."_

_James didn't know what else to say._

_"We amuse ourselves well, considering we cannot leave."_

_"Don't want to leave," said Nichol. "It's all different out there now. Is there still a Queen on the throne of England?"_

_"Ye-es...Elizabeth the second," answered James. "Unless you're from Scotland, in which case she's Elizabeth the first," A flush of heat enveloped him, a full-on body blush, as everyone stared at him._

_Then Nichol shook his head and said, "You're funny."_

_"So...what do you do? With your...time?" asked James._

_From his jacket pocket, Huw produced a knife with an extremely tiny blade, the size of a scalpel. He put the tip under the edge of his fingernails and began to delicately scrape them white. "We tell stories. We make up stories. We sing songs, though not so well without a singer. We wander the woods, and sup in this ever present gloaming. We wait for new blood."_

_"Do you sleep?"_

_"Sleep?" Arnaud echoed, staring at James with eyebrows drawn close._

_James was sure that if he were in Arnaud's reach, the other man would have put him in a headlock by now. "Every creature needs sleep."_

_Arnaud spread both arms wide and shook his head. "Why should we need sleep when there is no sun? No moon? No work?"_

_"You can see the stars in the dells," added Nichol cheerfully. "There are never any clouds here."_

_Arnaud eyed him with disgust. He looked back at James, took a quick breath, then rocketed to his feet. Huw and Nichol followed post-haste, so James did too, wobbling a little as he spun to see what approached._

_Katerin and Ismailah were also standing, heads bowed as the Mistress floated - there was no other word for it, she floated over the footbridge. Hector was nowhere in sight behind her._

_James clasped his hands behind his back and nodded once. "Ma'am."_

_She was still wearing her veils, but it appeared to James that she swept the others with a glance, for they turned and left without another word to him. Although Arnaud shot him a narrow glance of warning as he stepped over the log. James wasn't sure if that meant he was supposed to take care of himself, or be polite to her. As if he were ever going to be anything less._

_The Mistress arranged herself on her stool, hands neatly folded in her lap. James remained standing. He needed every edge he could get, and height was an easy achievement. Realizing she was waiting for him to speak, he said, "This is a song I wrote for my band."_

_She listened, but didn't seem all that impressed. When he was finished, she said, "Know you the[Palestinalied?](http://youtu.be/FAuZqQoE6fs)_

_James blinked in surprise. Not the kind of song he was expecting her to ask for, not at all. Yet why not? Who knew how many people had lived in these...woods...over time? And the Palestinalied, a Christian propaganda song from the 5th Crusade, no less? His Old German was rusty, but he could probably substitute Latin and she wouldn't notice. He hoped._

_From there it was Polorum Regina and Britten's[Deo Gratias](http://youtu.be/MFTw21AW1Q0). He actually preferred Ockeghem's [Deo Gratias](http://youtu.be/rzBhYMvnMKQ), it was possibly the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard. He had sung it a few times in Seminary because Father Thomas, the Choirmaster, believed in singing pieces from every era, not simply the standard canon. Unfortunately James had been unable to get the band to try it out as a piece to play, even though he had arranged it for far fewer voices. _

_He broke out into pieces similar in age, if not necessarily in theme; Josquin desPrez,[John Dowland](http://youtu.be/8yDjjzpYL98), Guillaume de Machaut, Palestrina. He began to feel the strain, but sang on. Finally, too parched to continue, he stopped with a bow of apology to the Mistress._

_She waved one hand at him. "Well sung, Singer. Take refreshment."_

_James glanced to the side - there hadn't been a table there before, right? Not with a tall, white, ceramic pitcher and single drinking glass on top, right?_

_"It is unchanged. You will not be held here for quenching your thirst."_

_By which he thought she meant nothing bad would happen to him. Like remaining here forever._

_He drank. Tasted like...water. Cool, clear water, slightly sweet. He was reminded of Galadriel's Miruvor, but he felt only tired, not refreshed._

_"You have pleased me, Singer."_

_James bowed slightly. "Ma'am."_

_"It is not easy, here," she murmured._

_James was under the strong suspicion that she wanted to talk. Which was simply bizarre. She clearly had power and knew how to use it. Nonetheless, in for a penny, in a pound. "You've been here long, ma'am?"_

_Her head tilted to one side as she regarded him. "You're the first who's ever asked."_

_"Well," he began, wishing he understood what exactly she wanted from him. "I can only imagine it might be tiresome, without modern conveniences," which didn't make a damned bit of sense. On the other hand, none of this made sense._

_"In times past people were simpler. It was easy to travel in the world. Nowadays there are few believers, and even fewer who hold to the old ways."_

_"You wouldn't think so if you looked at the Internet," said James. "Ma'am. A modern convenience you would no doubt enjoy. It has millions of songs to listen to, from all over the world, from all times."_

_"I should like to see this in-ter-net."_

_The words left his mouth before he had a chance to rein himself in. "Perhaps I could arrange something?" Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

_"For what recompense?"_

_Um. "A chance to...re-enter the modern world, should my companion fail."_

_"You bargain with me again?"_

_"No! Ma'am. No, no," said James, hoping he didn't sound as anxious as he felt. Even though he was bargaining, really."An amendment. An opportunity to...entice those who seek ease of the modern world in humbler ways," not that he ever intended that to happen, either._

_A small silence fell in which the babble of the brook seemed over loud. The Mistress raised both hands to her face and began to raise her veil._

_James immediately bowed his head and stared hard at the ground. The grass was...grass. It was dark and healthy and Jesus Christ what on earth was a man supposed to do in a situation like this?_


	10. Chapter 10

\- FIVE -

Laura wasn't quite finished with her practice when Lewis arrived at Trevelyan College. He loitered outside the gates for a few minutes, watching the pretty girls go by with their beaux. If Morse had been there he no doubt would have made some kind of snarky comment about Lewis and sex. Lewis shook his head, bemused by the thought. Morse, for all of his romaniticism, never really seemed to get any, from what Lewis had seen. Which was a pity. Morse was the kind of bloke who could have used a woman's soft touch, someone who could appreciate his interest in music and fancy books.

Someone like Laura. Lewis wandered into the nearby park, which was fun for people-watching as it attracted a host of musicians, soap-box preachers, poets, and artists. He wasn't quite sure why this park was so popular as the College wasn't exactly off Oxford's High Street. He sat down on a bench, leaned against the backrest, and stretched out his legs. He had to admit that he was uneasy, where his feelings were concerned. Since the incident with Jarrett, he had felt funny being around her. As if...as if he were playacting. Meant in good faith, he responded to her like he always had, with affection and jokes.

It was just that she was...touchy. He wasn't opposed to cuddling or hugs or anything like that. He loved cudding. Just...not all the time. 

Everywhere. 

In public. 

He didn't mind the 'in public' part, not really. If anything, he appreciated the glances - because yes, he was taken, and by a pretty woman to boot.

But...it felt like a lie. Somehow he was lying, and he didn't like that at all. Especially not to Laura, who was clearly enjoying their relationship. All aspects of their relationship. He figured he had maybe until Mark's wedding to figure out what to do, because if he were really honest with himself, as much as he enjoyed the company, he wasn't particularly interested in having sex. At least not with Laura.

Lewis winced. He was a terrible person. Laura was lovely and kind (though not afraid to speak her mind)(and often) with a great figure and a career of which Morse would think highly.

Yes, thought Lewis, watching a quintet of men and women stop under the nearby oak with various packed instruments. Morse would have had Laura over at every opportunity, finagling her into going to operas with him, or playing solos, or, god help Laura, getting her sing or play with him. Lewis had a sudden vision of Morse in a tux, Laura in a sparkling white dress on his arm. Hunh.

Checking his watch again, he realised that he had actually arrived quite early, Laura still had ten minutes left, and then there would be her slow-leave taking. Ah well, that's how it was, living with a musician. As a teenager Mark had been the same way with that band of his, The Accelerated Decrepitude Society, whatever the hell that meant. Funny how they had grown in popularity, Lewis would never have guessed that would happen. 

"Jolly, bring my backpack, yeah?" called one of the women, unsnapping the buckles on the harp case that was almost as tall as she was.

So far they had unpacked the harp, a standing double bass, hand drums, a fiddle, a piccolo, a very long recorder, a mandolin, a concertina painted gaily in red and black and white, plus those hand clap things Flamenco dancers used. He made a mental note to shift if any of the players made a move in his direction with either those things or the congas. He could play a passable guitar, and he knew he had a good voice, yet the idea of doing either in a public park with a random group of strangers did not intrigue him at all.

"There you are!" Laura swooped down from behind the bench to peck Lewis on the cheek. "Hullo, love."

"Have a good practice?" Lewis asked, taking her hand and tugging her down next to him. "First Violin still in a snit?"

"Oh," she grimaced and shook her head. "He's ridiculous!"

"No change there, then."

She glanced around and leaned towards him, lowering her voice. "He's having an affair with the tympanist. I told you his wife's in Winds with me, right?"

Lewis nodded.

"Mandy doesn't think the wife's catching on, but I think Susan already knows. You just don't get that kind of staring in every day conversation."

"Mm."

"Now what about you, how are you? Starving? Should we go out to dinner? I hear The Green Whistle's reopened."

Lewis shrugged. "Whatever takes your fancy."

She beamed at him. "Chippie it is." 

The evening was pleasant, the heat of high summer fading slowly. Laura was still winding down from her practice, so they walked to the nearest chippie for dinner and returned to the park to eat. They took up the same bench as earlier just as another couple vacated it, gleefully ignoring the dirty looks sent their way by a trio of teenaged girls standing in the crowd that had gathered to listen to the band. Lewis widened his eyes and silently whispered an 'Oo!' at Laura after one girl not-so-silently grumbled about OAPs being out after dark. The weather was too fine to take the girl to task, however. Instead, they sat and listened to the band, munched on their fish and chips, drank their bottles of water. Lewis would have preferred an orange juice, but Laura had told him that if he wanted to avoid the dentist, he'd have to stop with the juice.

'"You don't want to know what the acid does to your teeth,"' she'd said at breakfast one morning, and that had been that.

The quintet finished their song, a mostly instrumental tune with occasional wordless vocals. It clearly had traditional roots, though from which tradition, Lewis couldn't tell, and featured the clappy things, the concertina, hand drums and cello. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe he lacked the musical sensibilities, for everyone else had clearly enjoyed it.

Laura put her wrapper of chips to one side and began searching through her purse.

Lewis gaped at her. "You are joking, right?"

"I like them," she answered, closing the purse to stand and fish through her trouser pockets. "Oh come on, you heard them, they're good. And the cd is only 10 quid."

"Ten quid!" he protested, shaking his head. At least 5 too much. 

The balding but long-haired bloke who had been playing the concertina approached them, a few cds in one hand, a hat, literally a hat, in the other. Lewis was not happy to see him eyeing Laura up and down with that fake smile. Hell, it was closer to an open leer. No, he wasn't having it. He made a point of standing up and was satisfied when the smile dropped off the bloke's face.

"I've only got bus fare left," said Laura, looking at Lewis with naked pleading in her face.

"Seriously."

"Oh come on, just this once?"

Just this once, his arse. With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, he gave the bloke a handful of pound coins, picking out the remainder from Laura's change. "The things I do for you," he grumbled, leaning down to suffer another kiss on his cheek. 

"Ta very much, mate!" said the bloke with a grin, touching his forelock and just mocking the hell out of Lewis as he did so.

The next day, having endured the entirety of Queen Anne's Lace's cd - twice - Lewis decided to go to work early to catch up, leaving Laura having a lie-in. Busy juggling his phone, keys, and flask of tea (never drink the tea from the machine), he didn't notice the woman leaning against the side of his car until he was crossing the road. "Oi!"

The woman looked up from her phone. "Morning."

"Can I help you with something?" asked Lewis sharply. She looked old for a student, even though she dressed like one. Or had friends with hippie aspirations. Whoever she was, she clearly didn't give much for his opinion. 

Straightening up, she tucked her phone into the worn leather bag slung crosswise against her body, then folded her hands together. "You have a message for me."

Lewis remotely unlocked his car. "Not unless you want to turn yourself in for a crime you've committed."

"My name is Lottie Jenkins and I'm the mother of the Queen Anne's Lace. You saw them in the park yestereve."

"Aye...I did," said Lewis slowly, wondering at her odd phrasing. "I don't recall seeing you there."

"Oh, I wasn't."

"Alright. What's this about then?"

"You threatened to arrest me, so you're a policeman?"

Lewis gave her another once-over. She wasn't homeless, though if a person were extremely unobservant (or DC Glover), one might think she was. Her clothing was faded, but clean and tidy. She wore leather clogs on her feet, blue jeans threadbare at the knee, a short red, maroon, and violet patchwork dress above that, a black leather jacket, and a bright pink tasseled scarf wound around her throat. She was a dark blonde, her hair in dredlocks and knotted on top of her head to fall down her back. Her skin was naturally tanned, and if Lewis had to make a guesstimate he would say she might be of Greek or Italian descent. Which still begged the question of what she wanted with him. 

"You're going to think I'm mad," she said, glancing at the ground. "But...I think you're looking for me."

Right. "Why don't you come to the station with me and we can get this sorted out."

"Oh no, no. I mean, not you the police, I meant you, standing right here."

"You don't even know my name!"

"Only because you haven't told me yet."

Well, she had a point there. He held out his hand. "Detective Inspector Lewis, Thames Valley Police."

"So you are a policeman, then."

Lewis made an attempt at not frowning. Hathaway would have said he failed miserably, that he couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag. Of course Hathaway could also be the picture of inscrutability. If you didn't know him. Still pondering his options, he said, "Let's get some coffee at the station and talk this over."

"No! No. I came here to talk to you and you alone."

The mystery of her was tantalizing, but Lewis was no fool. Whatever she wanted from him, she was going to have to come to him instead of teasing him with cryptic questions. He stepped around her and opened the driver's side door. Before he sat down, he took one of his cards from his inner jacket pocket and held it out to her. "Here's my number. Call me when you're ready to talk."

Lottie took the card, albeit reluctantly. 

Lewis kept an eye on the rear view mirror as he pulled away. She stood there and watched him until he turned the corner. Odd.

He was halfway to the station when he realized: he'd thought about what Hathaway would say, yet he had no memory of ever meeting the man in person.


	11. Chapter 11

_  
~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_"I am not my sister-cousin," said the Mistress, clearly amused. "You may look upon me without harm."_

_James licked his lips and hoped the sudden perspiration he could feel at his temples wasn't noticeable in the candlelight. If only he could say the same about the water in his bowels. Nothing like a bit of terror to make a person need the toilet like nothing on earth._

_"Singer."_

_He briefly closed his eyes and steeled himself not to react to whatever he saw._

_The Mistress was...she was..._

_She was young. She was old. She could have been anywhere between 20 and 90. Her eyes were moss green, and he couldn't tell if it was the light or not, but her skin color seemed to change between being as pale as his own and Africa dark. Her hair was mostly hidden beneath the veil, but what wisps of it escaped were bitter chocolate, or perhaps black._

_The moment became too drawn out. James bowed, "Ma'am."_

_"You may sit."_

_On shaky legs, James did as he was told. It wasn't often one met a Personage of Antiquity. Because he knew, now, that she was far older that he had ever suspected. He took another chance. He was a detective. He could do this. "Did you know others when you first came here, ma'am?"_

_One corner of her mouth curled up a little. "I was old when you first arrived on this isle."_

_"Of course," James murmured to himself, feeling sweat roll down his back. He resisted the urge to unbutton the collar of his shirt or loosen his tie._

_The Mistress leaned forward a little, her eyes large and over bright."I played amidst the fields and forests, swam with fish and fowl, ran with the deer and the wolf. When your people came, I played with them, too, until they left me gifts."_

_What form this 'playing' took, James really didn't want to know. "Is that how you came by your...the people who live here?"_

_"No. Like you, Hector and the rest bargained with me."_

_"They lost."_

_She shrugged, a delicate twitch of her shoulders. "They were poor judges of their own language."_

_"Ah."_

_Her head tilted to one side again. "You seem unsurprised."_

_"Folklore is fairly straightforward when it comes to the older gods," James couldn't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He could barely believe he was actually having this conversation._

_"You know who I am, then."_

_James shook his head slightly. "Not by name, no. But...I see you."_

_The Mistress smiled, clearly delighted. "Would that more would see me."_

_"As I said, ma'am, there are plenty who do. The internet is a vast and wonderful place," Mostly._

_"I would understand this place you speak of."_

_"Ye...es," James bit his lower lip. How on earth was he going to arrange this? He would need a computer and a power source, though maybe batteries, lots and lots of batteries, and someone to go out and refresh them from time to time, would do the trick. Assuming she couldn't just power it herself through some kind of...magic. "I'm sure we can arrange something."_

_"I miss the world," she said wistfully._

_"Perhaps it's time to rejoin it," James suggested. He motioned towards their surroundings. "See something different."_

_Her eyes widened as she looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I would not be shunned?"_

_"Well," he said gently, taken aback by her sudden vulnerability. "You'd have to update your dress sense, but apart from that, I don't see why you would. Why any of you would. And when Robbie finds your players, they can be your guide."_

_She brightened. "I had not thought of that. You are good for us, Singer. Sing to me a popular song of your people."_

_"Um, right," James desperately tried to think of something that wasn't too folk, but not too dance, either. God, popular songs...he wasn't one to buy or listen to a lot of pop music, though of course he heard it all the time, it was impossible to escape. There was that song by One Direction - no! Just because he was familiar with every single damned lyric of it, that didn't mean he had to sing it to someone who had no defences. Since he wanted music with depth, of course all he could think of were the worst, catchiest, most annoying songs._

_Okay. He needed to narrow down his choices. Firstly, he had no instruments save his hands and his voice. So, something slower, but not a ballad - ah. James stood and began to stamp his foot and clap his hands. The rhythm established, he began to sing Elbow's '[Grounds For Divorce](http://youtu.be/jxczVhG0os8)'. Not one of his favorites, but the one he could remember._

_When he was done, the Mistress said, "You favor melancholy with such a sad song."_

_James opened his mouth to reply, then realized there was nothing to say when the truth was spoken. On the other hand, she had asked about popular music, not happy music. He wasn't sure he could comply with the latter. He switched to a quiet Kate Bush song, '[This Woman's Work](http://youtu.be/JcqEh1ZssBg)', and then to Adele, and in a last ditch attempt to be 'happy', tried the American canon._

_The Mistress smiled, but shook her head to '[Bridge Over Troubled Water](http://youtu.be/H_a46WJ1viA)', rocked side to side at 'Stand By Me', and sighed with contentment at the end of 'Everyday People'. "These are well known ballads?"_

_James finished his water and put it back down on the table. "They're not ballads, well the last two aren't, but they are popular. You should hear for yourself," he said, automatically reaching for his phone before remembering he no longer had it._

_"I am beginning to think you are correct, Singer."_

_He noticed her hands twisting as she spoke, and realized that for all of her power and knowledge, she was nervous. Nervous of the new world he represented. "People remain the same no matter how much time has passed outside."_

_Although she didn't quite smile, James saw her shoulders relax a fraction. So much easier to watch her when she wasn't looking directly at him. "Surely Ismailah and Katerin told - "_

_The Mistress chopped one hand in the air. "Do not speak to me of them. They bring disharmony. You do not, even though you believe in their god."_

_James hesitated. He was pretty sure Ismailah was Muslim. Might not do to argue the point, however. He said, "They're Christians?"_

_"Of a kind I do not like. Sanctimonious and rude."_

_"I can only apologise, ma'am, on their behalf."_

_She raised an eyebrow. "You have that power?"_

_"Well...many of us remember Christ's humbleness, and try to follow in his footsteps."_

_"You say there are those who would be happy to see me, they are Christians too?"_

_"Some are, but I think most are not."_

_"This is...allowed?"_

_"The Church no longer has the power it once had," he said. "Society has changed greatly. Of course there are many who would prefer things to have stayed the same. I...you...?"_

_"For some time, it was necessary," she answered, her face expressionless._

_"Far be it for me to judge you, ma'am."_

_A silence fell, albeit one of ease. James could imagine how difficult it must have been for her as the population converted to Christianity. "Do you have a Christian name?"_

_"Not one of consequence. Apart from Hector, my companions have not heard of me."_

_He nodded. For the first time he understood that this place was just as much a trap for her as it was for Johannes and the rest. He ventured forth with a quiet, "You must get bored?"_

_She smiled again, tremulously, and James was at her feet before the thought occurred to him that he shouldn't. He crouched and reached for her, hesitated, let his hands drop to his knees. He murmured, "It's going to be fine. You won't be alone any more."_

_Christ, if Robbie was here he'd have hauled him back by his shoulders by now and shouted in his face. And he would be right, too. One didn't touch a Goddess, no matter how old, without her express permission. James had no desire to end up gazing into some pond, or in his case, a book, or worse, endlessly wandering a library without being able to reach any of the damned things._

_"You are self assured in this regard."_

_James hitched one shoulder up. "For this, yes. I know this much."_

_She sighed, blinked slowly, then lowered her veil over her face. She straightened, hands once again primly folded in her lap. Realising he wasn't going to make further inroads, James stood and turned around. He was just about to sit down again when Arnaud and the rest trooped out of the forest. They were eerily silent, at least until James remembered it was summer here, too. Nichol had said there were seasons, but they were slower, and not as fierce as at home._

_They bowed to the Mistress one by one, taking seats on the logs next to James. Arnaud glanced at the Mistress before eying James. Apparently satisfied that James hadn't taken advantage (of a Goddess, James reminded himself, because how was that was something that was even possible), Arnaud sat down, slinging the bag he was carrying to the ground. He handed out rolls of dark brown bread to everyone save James, followed this with crumbly white cheese laden with black flecks._

_Which was interesting. He doubted there was a farm nearby, which meant someone was going out into the real world, or this meal was magic. Not so much as he had the desire to find out, at least not until he was sure they weren't staying forever. No one spoke as the food was eaten._

_As he sat there, James realised he would soon need to eat as well. He could feel himself shaking from nervous exhaustion, his eyes burned with dryness, his throat remained dry no matter how much water he drank. He wanted his bed and his fluffy down duvet. He wanted a hot meal and a single malt whisky by a fire, afterwards._

_He wanted to believe this was all a dream, and his alarm would ring and he would be off for another fine day at the nick._

_He wanted Robbie by his side._


	12. Chapter 12

\- SIX -

 

" - pat ma-groin!"

Raucous laughter greeted Lewis as he turned the corner. He didn't even try to keep the scowl from his face. The joke was an old one and had no place in today's modern policing. Fowler noticed him and nodded a greeting before scuttling in the opposite direction. Dawes and Pollard hastened towards the bullpen, studiously ignoring him with down turned faces.

Too bloody right. Lewis found himself in the unenviable position of being glad to leave work, yet not wanting to go home, either. There were somethings he just didn't like to do, and confronting Laura was one of them. It had been bad enough with Val, and that final unraveling had been a doozy even by his standards.

He had just stepped outside and was jingling his car keys when his phone chimed with an incoming text. Pausing on the steps of the nick, he read the message 

**Meet at the Auld Friars. I'l explain everythuing - Lottie Jenkins**.

Well well. That was unexpected. Lewis pocketed his phone and headed to the car. Time to see what was up.

The Auld Friars was only a few years old, the kind of pub Morse would have both disparaged for it's fake, 'olde worlde' appearance that the tourists loved, and appreciated as it was an independent. The tables outside were full, so Lewis stepped inside, pausing to adjust to the darkness of the room. The pub was moderately busy inside, leaving Lewis to have a bit of a wander before finding Lottie on the lower level next to the fireplace. She was seated behind one of the drum tables, awkwardly taking off her jacket while trying not to knock into the half-pint of cider that was in front of her.

On the second bar landing Lewis pushed past the fruit machines - mercifully dark - and slid onto the bench next to her. He said, "Is that for me?"

"No chance," she said, tucking her jacket out of sight. "Get your own, mate."

Lewis hailed a passing waitress and ordered an orange juice and a glass of ice. Being impaired in any way was not on his agenda for the evening, even though he could have murdered a pint. "So what did you want to tell me."

She glanced at the table, her forehead wrinkling. "My story is long and strange. An age ago, when I was young, I ran away from home. I was the eldest of nine and tired of working on the farm, of watching the babies, of cooking and cleaning and hiring out for pittance."

"Aye," said Robbie, watching his waitress speak to another customer and laugh. "I've had my share of time on a farm."

"I left with only the clothes on my back, didn't want to leave my mum lacking. I figured I would be one less mouth to feed, and the older ones could have the things I no longer needed, y'know?" Lottie paused for a drink of cider. "Anyway. I fell in with a man and a woman, Thomas and Jane, on the road. They were travelling musicians, and very kind to me. Two years later, after they had taught me everything they knew, and what I learned on my own, they brought me to a camp in the woods. It was like a movie set - " Lottie stopped speaking as the waitress approached with Lewis' half-pint. 

"Ta," he said, taking his orange. He took a sip, licked the foam off of his upper lip. Much better, even though it was far too sweet. "Go on."

"There was a striped canvas tent, but small, like you'd see in a circus? There was a fire and food, people singing and dancing," she shook her head with a wry smile. "I never imagined for a minute how much that would change my life. I know you're wondering what any of this has to do with you, but bear with me."

"I didn't know it at the time, but that day led me to you today. And now you'll have to choose, as I did, except you'll know what you're getting into beforehand," Lottie nodded at him. "You might want to record this part. On your phone."

Interesting. Lewis relaxed a little. In his experience he had found that those who requested audio or video interviews desperately wanted official records of what they said. They wanted proof, so that everyone and anyone would understand their point of view. The modern age, he mused, bringing his phone back out of his pocket. Back in the day no one wanted their words in print. Look at the world now, in this day of Jeremy Kyle and Oprah, you weren't a real person unless there was a record. He was fumbling with the menu when Lottie made a noise and took it from him.

"Sorry," she said, touching this and that icon before setting the phone on the table between the two of them. "I get impatient."

"Right. Detective Inspector Lewis interviewing Lottie Jenkins, the time is approximately five fifty-four pm."

Lottie took a deep breath. "My band plays music in the park by Trevelyan College. I wasn't there yesterday, I had an appointment, but when they were done you paid them for a cd."

Lewis shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"I'm the bookkeeper, so they always give me the money after a gig and I get everyone paid. Yesterday, though, when I got the money, I felt...this is going to sound strange, but I knew you were looking for me."

He took another sip of juice. "How's that, then?"

"Will you trust me? That I'm telling the truth?"

"Just say what you need to say, and I'll decide from there."

"I...when I went to the camp with Thomas and Jane, their son was there. He was only little, six or seven, and he was so happy to see them. I didn't even know they had a child, they'd never mentioned him to me," Despite the warmth of the pub, Lottie pulled her jacket over her lap. "For all that they taught me, they never told me they were going to trade me to the camp for the return of their son."

"He was kidnapped?"

"No, no. It was...a bargain. He was safe and sound, but in order to get him back, they had to trade someone with musical ability for him."

Lewis shook his head. "Are you telling me that in order to leave this...camp...as a family, they were to leave him behind, find a replacement for themselves so they could leave with him?"

"Basically. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true! The leader there, she has some kind of power over people...it's not like I didn't try to leave! This place is in the middle of the woods, no one ever comes by on a whim, they don't see the lights from the road, or smell the meat cooking on the fire. We have to be brought back, we have to make a bargain, we have to trade in people to escape."

"You realize this doesn't make any sense, right?" he asked, wondering if he needed to revise his initial impression of her. 

"I know, I know! And I don't know how to explain it so that it makes sense."

Lewis frowned. "So why does this have anything to do with me?"

She looked at him sadly. "Because the coin, the money you gave to Ben, it had the leader's mark upon it. She's looking for me. And I know she's holding someone for you."

"I don't know - " and then he did. And yet, was that really true? Just because no one had been able to find Hathaway, that didn't mean he was missing. "I don't have any special talents, I'm an ordinary bloke. Maybe she wants to find you."

Lottie's face crumpled. She waved off his reaching hand. "It's okay," she said, rifling through her pockets. "It'll be alright."

Lewis offered his handkerchief, then stuffed it back into his pocket when she retrieved a crumpled tissue from her messenger bag. "You don't have to go back."

She looked at him under her lashes with a frown and a derisive shake of the head. "If you'd ever been there, you'd understand. Of course I have to go back. I've had a lifetime outside, done more things than I imagined were possible under the sun. I must face whatever punishment is given to me. The real question is, will you come with me?"

Oh, he was going to go all right. No chance of leaving a potentially mentally unstable woman in the middle of nowhere - "D'you know where we're going?"

Once again she shook her head. "The coin will tell me if we're getting close, but I don't have an address or anything like that." 

Which wasn't on. "I need to make a call," he said.

"I'm off to use the toilet, then we can go, yeah?"

"Sure," Lewis waited until she was out of sight before dialing Riley's number. 

_"Sir?"_

The fruit machines abruptly came to life with lights and incredibly annoying music. Lewis plugged one ear and said, "I need you to meet me at the Auld Friars as soon as possible. I've got a lead on this Hathaway fellow."

_"Hatha-who?"_

Lewis tried not to shout down the phone. "Hathaway, Detective Sergeant, someone I've been looking for for awhile."

_"Lucky for you I'm right down the road. I'll be there in a few minutes."_

Which left only Laura. And it was Thursday, which was their usual night in if he didn't have a case. Unfortunately, between work, his hospitalization and her orchestra schedule, weeks had passed since they had last had a dinner together. So it was with great reluctance that he hit the speed dial for home. With any luck, she wouldn't be there. 

His luck always had been piss poor.

"I'm sorry love, I just can't make it tonight."

_"But Robbie, this is the last dinner before the wedding! Mark will be so disappointed."_

"Mark will still come over for his tea even after he gets married," Lewis grimaced an apology as Lottie grabbed her jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. "I'm sure Clodagh will be happy to have him out of her hair for a little while. Especially if he's over at his old dad's house."

Riley materialized at Lewis' shoulder.

"I've got to go, pet. I'll talk to you soon."

Riley grinned. "The little woman giving you heck?"

Lewis motioned towards Lottie. "This is Lottie Jenkins. Riley's my sergeant, he'll take care of you if I'm unable to, keep you safe."

Introductions made, Lewis making a mental note to give Riley one more warning, then it was time to speak to Innocent, see if she had any ideas. If she didn't, it would have to be Super Hooper, and what would be the point of that except having it on Riley's official record? Okay, maybe the official was the point. If Innocent caught Riley - ah, maybe that would be a better plan. No censure of Riley, but a change of Sergeants. He and Innocent could switch; she could take Riley, he would happily have Gurdip, the man was a wiz at computers. And Lewis could live with that insufferability if it meant peace and quiet in the office for a few weeks.

However, Riley had his moments, and Lewis was grateful they appeared to be in one now. Apart from ogling Lottie's arse as they left the pub, Riley had mercifully kept to the case at hand. 

"Lottie! Hey, Lottie!"

Lewis heard Lottie groan as they all turned around. A group of people approached them and as they passed under the streetlight, Lewis realized they were members of the band from the park.

"Ben, can it wait until tomorrow?" called Lottie.

"We've got a gig tonight, did you forget?" 

"I'm sorry, I did. I've got something else I have to do."

Ben, a man the same height as Lewis, but a lot slimmer, was smiling, looking at them warily at the same time. "Y'alright, then?"

"I'm fine. I really do have to be off, though."

"O-kay," said Ben. He nodded, took a couple of steps back, half-turned away, turned back again. "Call me later, yeah?"

"I will do. Have a great night, guys."

The situation defused, and after a brief argument over whose vehicle to take, Lewis settled the matter by simply walking to his car and unlocking the doors.

Traffic had lightened, so they made good time out of Oxford, Lottie holding the coin tightly in her hands and directing them this way and that until they turned onto a narrow back road dwarfed by yew hedges on both sides.

"Tell me again who we're looking for?" asked Riley, peering over Lewis' shoulder from the back seat.

"Hathaway's a tall bloke, white with very short blond hair. Looks like a student when he's not wearing a suit," answered Lewis, looking both ways before turning onto a forestry track at Lottie's gesture. The dirt road was going to be hell on the underside of the car.

"Where the hell are we?" Riley muttered.

"Didn't you read the map?"

"I was using Google Maps...at least I was until my phone died."

Lewis scrabbled in the door pocket, found a wad of paper and pulled it out, glanced at it. "Take this," he said, holding it over his shoulder and hoping he didn't go off the road. "map of Oxfordshire, circa before GPS."

Riley snagged the map and retreated from the center arm rest to lean against the back seat once more. "Jesus, I haven't used one of these in years."

Ten minutes later, Lottie said, "Pull over here."

Lewis did so, looking around with interest. There wasn't much to see, really. There was a wide field to the right, deep with ripening wheat, and a dark, rather gloomy forest to the left. He had really hoped they were headed into the field rather than the forest. It just looked so damned spooky - though only a thousand fire ants crawling over his body would ever make him mention that little titbit of information. 

They all got out of the car to have a little look-see. Lewis was rolling his sleeves up when he noticed dust rising above the yew hedge that had stopped just as the field had begun. Riley saw, then Lottie. As one they turned to watch the dust, which was rising from the back of a small red van as it sped down the road.

"Oh for fucks sake!" Lottie shouted, shaking her head in disgust. She threw up both hands and stalked forward as the van drew close and stopped behind Lewis' car. "What the fuck did I tell you?"

Ben popped out of the driver's seat, followed by the rest of the band - the rest of the boys in the band, Lewis thought to himself. The world tilted on its axis a little -

"Sir?"

Lewis brushed off Riley's concern with a gruff, "I'm fine."

"We were concerned," said Ben, holding up placating hands.

"Yeah," said one of the women, a dishwater blonde with widely set, unnaturally black eyes. "We've never seen these two before, we wanted to make sure you're weren't in trouble."

"Well thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I'm okay," answered Lottie.

"Okay?" exclaimed Ben, throwing his arms wide. "You're in the middle of nowhere with two strangers, what on earth makes this okay?"

Lewis had had enough. He retrieved his identification and flipped it open, Riley following his lead a half second later. "Are we clear now?" 

"Oh, right, right, alright," said Ben. "We'll just wait here for you to do your thing."

"Fine, fine. Whatever," said Lottie, still clearly annoyed. She motioned towards Lewis and Riley before heading towards the forest. "Let's do this before we lose the light."

Lewis trotted to catch up to her as she stepped into the high weeds at the side of the road. Even though twilight was just beginning to fall, under the canopy of the trees the forest was already fairly dark. Cool, too, and Lewis hoped Lottie knew they weren't going to be spending too much time in these woods without having to return to the car for torches. And, possibly, backup. Although what he could possibly say to Innocent beyond 'She had a stone that went buzz-buzz', he didn't even know. 

And he considered himself fairly good at stretching the truth when it came to policework. Always supported by the actual evidence, properly gathered, of course. He wasn't DI Crain, for god's sakes.

Lottie moved steadily through the woods, Lewis and Riley following, though Riley seemed to be having trouble with the trees.

After hearing him curse for the umpteenth time, Lewis finally turned around with his hands on his hips. "What's the problem, man?"

Riley grimaced and pushed several whip-thin branches out of his face. "These bloody trees! I hate the damned things."

Lewis chuckled. "You hate trees? That's like hating air!"

'They're not slapping you in the face with every step you take, care they! I swear they're trying to keep me from following the two of you."

"You can always go back to car," Lewis teased. "If you can find it."

Riley scowled at him as he went past to join Lottie, who was waiting for them just next to a small stream. Lewis grinned to himself and followed. 

A few minutes later they were out of the forest and under the welcome of the last sunlight of the evening. It wasn't going to be one of the glorious sunsets Lewis remembered from the early 80s after that American volcano blew up. Nonetheless, he loved seeing the warm floral colors of the allotments reflected in the summer sky, loved the heavy sweetness of the air.

Lewis had completely lost track of time when they left the forest to enter a narrow field which sloped down and curved to the right behind a jut of pine trees. They followed the path of the stream, eventually coming to a barrow-mound.

"Well, this is it. You don't have to come any further, in fact I'd prefer it if you didn't. I can't guarantee you'll be able to come back out," said Lottie, looking from the coin in her hand to the mound. She turned and looked at them both before glancing behind them with a furrowed brow. "Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me!"


	13. Chapter 13

_~ OTHERWHERE ~_

_Nichol reached into his bag and brought out a mandolin, settling it on his lap. It was exquisitely decorated with mother-of-pearl and black nacre, star shaped cabochons of white opal against a resplendent sun design in veneers of tiger maple, mahogany, and walnut. He began to play, a slow plucking of strings reminiscent of Guillaume de Machaut and other medieval composers. It was music to sleep by, and James wished Nichol some serious harm, up to and including the smashing of that beautiful mandolin._

_He hid a yawn behind both hands, scrubbing his face after to try and ward off the impulse to let his eyes close, to simply rest. He heard the Mistress let out a soft 'Ah!' and automatically turned towards her, hastily lowering his hands. She wasn't looking at him, however, and he followed her gaze past the tunnel exit to the forest beyond, twisting to see behind himself._

_Where a tall woman dressed like a Burning Man refugee was striding out of the forest with a determined expression on her face, Robbie - Lewis! - directly behind her. After Lewis came more people, not a one whom James recognized. There was a man who looked like a cop, and then even more refugees, glancing around with amazement and nervousness, but no fear._

_"Ben!" Arnaud shot to his feet, took a step, looked over his should at the Mistress. Permission was apparently given, for he then jumped over the log and trotted over to the group to heartily shake hands with one of the new men._

_Who must have been the Player Lewis was sent to retrieve. Excellent, most excellent. James blinked back the sudden water in his eyes. He released the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding and decided to use his next available day off for prayer and contemplation. Dinner with Lewis, if he could arrange it. He would arrange it._

_And, if the evening went well, perhaps dip a toe into deeper waters. He felt sick at the prospect of being so bold, yet during this time with the Mistress, it had become clear to him that he could not make the mistake he had made with Will, not again. If the worst happened, if he should die without Lewis knowing how he felt - it didn't bear thinking of._

_Mind made up, James stood, clasping his hands behind his back as the others rushed forward to greet Ben. Lewis spied him immediately and headed towards him, holding out one hand._

_"Sergeant Hathaway, good to see you."_

_It took James a moment to grasp that Lewis what Lewis wanted. James jerked one arm forward and clasped Lewis' hand in turn, squeezing hard once. Lewis did not return his squeeze. "Sir. Good to have you back, and with such company."_

_"Aye, well. They insisted. Lottie's the one that brought us here."_

_"Lottie?" asked James politely._

_"Is that was she calls herself?" said the Mistress, gliding to a stop next to him. She was short again, mostly._

_"You know her, ma'am?"_

_"I do."_

_James had to stop Lewis before he said anything that would keep them there."Sir, this is the Mistress."_

_"Oh right."_

_Said in such a deceptively mild manner that James immediately relaxed. Lewis knew who he was talking to, and what she could do, because somehow or another he was a magician. Even if he was behaving as if he'd never met James before (seriously, a hand shake?), looking at him sidelong with his forehead creased, as if he'd never even seen James before. It made James nervous, and he didn't like feeling nervous, not when Lewis was the cause, that never ended well._

_"Singer, bring Vika to me."_

_Vika? James looked at the group again, saw the woman who had led the pack standing a little apart from them, a sickly smile pasted on her lips. Before he had a chance to do more than take a single step forward, she was walking towards them._

_She stopped, not quite within arms reach, and said, "I'm here, I'm back."_

_"I have missed you," said the Mistress._

_Judging from the way Lewis stiffened next to him, James knew he wasn't the only one to hear the underlying threat of the Mistress's words._

_"I...will stay," continued Vika. She rubbed her hands together. "I prefer the name Lottie, now."_

_"Vika is your name."_

_Vika slumped a little, her shoulders rounding. James felt terrifically sorry for her. The Mistress hadn't told him for how long her player had been missing, yet it seemed the woman had had long enough to make a new life for herself. And speaking of time, he was relieved to see that no one was dressed differently from his own timeline. Lewis wore what he would ordinarily wear to work, from the navy suit that brought out the gold in his skin to his sturdy black shoes, though the tie was unfamiliar._

_The man Arnaud had been so excited to see finally came forward, his friends following behind like a herd of sheep. "Ma'am. I have returned."_

_"These are your bargain, Benjamin?" asked the Mistress, inclining her head slightly._

_"No, ma'am. They're - "_

_"What?" interrupted Vika. She stared at Ben. "You've been here before?"_

_"That's how you were able to find us so easily," said Lewis. "I knew that wasn't right."_

_Ben shook his head. "Look," he implored."For a long time I wasn't sure if you were one of us, and then when I got that damned coin from him - " he pointed at Lewis. "I knew. I'd planned on switching the coin with one I'd already gotten, but Gina took the bag before I had a chance. She dropped it off at yours..." He shrugged._

_Vika frowned. "So...why did you come back if you didn't have to?"_

_He gave a soft huff. "I touched the coin...it called to me. I'm not like you, Lottie. I've watched the world turn for more years than you've been alive - "_

_"But I never saw you here! I didn't meet you until long after I'd left."_

_"Like calls to like," murmured the Mistress to James, who was thinking about what Vika had just said, and was wondering how that could possibly work._

_"That just doesn't make any sense," said Vika._

_Ben said, "Like any of this does?"_

_No one spoke. James cleared his throat and, reclasping his hands behind his back, said, "The point is that you're both here now. I've made a suggestion to the Mistress that the players introduce her to the world beyond."_

_Surprise flickered across their faces as they looked at the Mistress. "It is...an intriguing idea."_

_After a beat, James continued. "This way you can bring new ideas, songs,and instruments, here."_

_"Sounds like a good way to keep in touch," added Lewis, to James' surprise. "Given what we were talking about in Auld Friars - "_

_Auld Friars? Fear shot through James. That place had been closed for years - hadn't it?_

_" - makes perfect sense. I'm sure there's an outlet around here somewhere for stereo speakers and the like."_

_As one, they stared at Lewis._

_"What?"_

_James shook his head slightly. At least one thing hadn't changed._

_"So that's it? You're just going to leave us here?" asked Vika, her face bright red. She violently gestured towards the strangers behind Ben. "What about them? Are they part of your fucking bargain?"_

_Ben reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Lottie - "_

_"No! I want to know! None of them can stay here, can't you see?"_

_"Lottie, they DO know!" he shouted. "They know all about it and they wanted to see! They WANT to play for the Mistress! They LOVE the idea of playing for a creature out of time, no offence..."_

_James could tell the Mistress was more amused than offended, but was glad to see her nod of acknowledgment._

_Ben released Lottie's - Vika's - arm and looked at the Mistress. "I'm sure we can renegotiate the terms of our Bargains, right?"_

_"I have been advised this would be in my best interest," she answered. "Is this not so, Singer?"_

_James gave another head bow. "Happy to be of service, ma'am. Before we go, is there any way I can facilitate the transition of your players? Especially now that you have more of them?"_

_"Singer, your Bargain is fulfilled. Although you never did ask about my favorites."_

_Heartsick, James bowed. "Ma'am."_

_She flicked the fingers of one hand towards him. "It is of no matter. You have brought me my Players, and more besides. I would have you make the next Bargain on my behalf."_

_"Ah..." James floundered, then took the pen and tablet Lewis shoved at him._

_"You'll be needing these, then," said Lewis, full of quiet confidence._

_With Lewis by his side, he could get through this. He would write out the contract, with all necessary details, and everyone would know where they stood. Everything would be okay, because Lewis would catch his failings. "Right. Let's take a seat."_


	14. Chapter 14

\- SEVEN -

Lewis yawned and stretched as best he could within the confines of the passenger seat. He felt old and creaky and his arse cheeks ached from sitting all night long. He moved his seat back upright, yawned again. Checking his watch only confirmed his thoughts; it was bloody early in the morning, the sun hovering just below the horizon. Hathaway wasn't in the car, but Lewis caught sight of him at the edge of the woods, having a slash. Which was a brilliant idea.

Hathaway was returning to the car, and Lewis couldn't resist. "Good _morning!"_

Hathaway's less than encouraging mumble back brightened Lewis' mood immensely, even as he put serious thought into where the nearest coffee house might be. And right quick, judging by Hathaway's thunderous mien. Still, it was worth it.

Finished with his business, Lewis returned to the car, which Hathaway had already started. 

"Total waste of the night," muttered Hathaway, shifting gears to back up into the field.

"Didn't realize you had plans," said Lewis, abruptly annoyed. Wasn't like he hadn't other things to do, himself, of a night.

Hathaway glanced at him, shook his head apologetically. "You know what I mean. There was never any chance Coughlin and O'Donnell would come all the way out here. They would have stayed with the local boys, not out in the back of beyond."

Lewis sighed, let the tension out. "Aye, lad, I know. What's done is done. Let's make our report and get some breakfast, me stomach thinks me throat's been cut."

"Sounds like a plan," said Hathaway, turning onto the yew-lined road. For a second he eyed Lewis, then turned his attention back to driving. "This is going to sound weird, but...I had some funny dreams while we were out here. I don't feel like I slept much."

"Me neither. Feel like someone's poured grit under my eyelids."

"And I'm sore in funny places."

Lewis looked askance at Hathaway, who was biting his lip and concentrating hard on driving. Then Hathaway flashed him a look and they both snickered. "Oh god, we've really got to get out of this car. Come on, I'll make you breakfast at mine. No sense in paying for what I've got at home."

They looked at each other again and broke into giggles.

"That's good, sir. You know I'm easy."

"I did know that, yes."

"Stop it, I'm trying to drive, here!"

"Sorry, sorry," said Lewis, wiping his eyes. "I am so tired. Seriously, though, I'll make you a fry up."

"A Lewis special it is, then."

"Coffee, tea, or me?" asked Lewis lightly, knowing the mistake he was making as the words were leaving his mouth. He bit back the apology, unsure of whether or not that would make things worse. He never knew, where Hathaway was concerned, just how far he could take innuendo. 

Hathaway shot him a sly look. "Well, if that's what on offer, I'll take it."

 _Oh._

Lewis felt his cheeks flush and looked out the side window. There had been heat in Hathaway's gaze. Not the first time Lewis had seen that look, just that it wasn't normally directed at him. At least, not like that. Which was...interesting. In the most obtuse manner, because it was Hathaway.

Yet now that Hathaway had been...forward...in his own way, Lewis found himself intrigued. Laura had made a few remarks about the two of them, usually when she was drunk and felt free to express her opinions about everyone and everything, up to and including how she hoped Mark would get over himself one day, and how she wished she had been able to meet Val, and how she wondered what Morse would think of modern technology, and why Peterson was such a fucking arsehole. And oh, yes, was Robbie aware that Hathaway was more than fond of him? That maybe he ought to think of responding in kind?

Truth be told, he'd been unable to get it out of his mind since she had mentioned it. Being male, Hathaway wasn't really his type. Even so...they did get along rather well, both in the office and out. He liked Hathaway, and Hathaway liked him. Obviously. Maybe, maybe he should feel things out a bit during breakfast. They were both exhausted, they could pass it off as just talk if the idea didn't appeal.

But.

It really rather did appeal.

"I need to stop at get a bottle of wine at some point," said Lewis, trying to settle more comfortably in his seat.

Hathaway stared at him so long Lewis almost grabbed for the wheel. 

"Wine?"

"I think we need it, don't you?"

"For breakfast?"

"No, for lat- " Lewis realized exactly what he was implying and knuckled one eye. "Ah, I see what you mean."

"After the report," said Hathaway, his voice low. "We'll stop and get some after we write the report."

Lewis nodded, abruptly wide-eyed and very awake. "Aye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> "I have had a most rare vision."  
> ~ Wm. Shakespeare  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Note: title stolen from the song of the same name by Perfume.
> 
> 'Nunc est bibendum' - "Now we drink" Horace
> 
> 'Festina Lente' - Hasten slowly, ie, slow down.
> 
> Time travelling cop - Life On Mars
> 
> 'Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold' - Milton, Paradise Lost?
> 
> ICE - In Case of Emergency - use with name, ie, ICEmom - so emergency services know who to call first.
> 
> American volcano - Mount St. Helens. I don't know about anywhere else, but the New England sunsets that year were absolutely astoundingly beautiful!
> 
> [The Playlist](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCKcnrBehc_yIu0PILQYOpTqyIEOIC900), in case the links go awry:
> 
> Riu Riu Chiu - Boston Camerata  
> Lamento di Tristano  
> Palestinalied - Qntal (can't find full lyrics in English, sorry)  
> Come Again - John Dowland (Swingle Singers)  
> Douce Dame Jolie - Guillaume de Machaut (couldn't find a vocal I liked)  
> Gunfight - Laurence Fox (Go buy it. Listen to him on Soundcloud)  
> Polorum Regina - best version is by St. George's Canzona, but it's unavailable on yt.  
> Deo Gracias - A Ceremony of Carols by Benjamin Britten. I sang ACoC in a mixed chorus - gorgeous!  
> Deo Gracias - seriously, Ockeghem's version is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard.  
> Grounds for Divorce - Elbow  
> This Woman's Work - Kate Bush, sung by SHINee's Jonghyun. I recommend listening to the entire thing. Of course, I *am* biased...  
> Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel  
> Stand By Me - Ben E King  
> Kiss & Music - Perfume. I love this song, I think the feel of it is downtempo sexay.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for 'Kiss and Music' by Dryad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521644) by [Garonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne)




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